His Indecent PropositionBy: Aphrodite Hunt
He senses her terror.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “You’re not ready for the belt. At least, not today.”
He strides to his desk. He has removed his pants and he is now in his boxers. She watches his buttocks roll in the silky material. Oh, but he has such a marvelous back – with streamlined lats and fantastically sculpted scapulae. He opens the drawer and takes something out, then he returns to her. The front of his boxers is tented with his obvious erection.
A hot flush spreads from her cheeks down to her breasts.
He shows the object to her. It is a flat paddle – made of some sort of flexible wood. It has designs and cravings upon it of an ethnic variety that she does not recognize.
“I bought this from Bali,” he says.
She licks her lips in trepidation. Her eyes begin to fill with tears.
“Please, sir . . . ”
“Yes?” He pauses.
“I-I . . . don’t think I can take the pain.” This comes out in a rush. She has always been afraid of pain, she who has never been spanked or beaten in her entire life. She’s also afraid of needles and doctor appointments and anything associated with bodily pain. Yes, she knows she’s a wuss, but she can’t help it.
He smiles, and there’s a glint of something tender in his eyes.
There’s a lyrical wistfulness to his voice as he says, “When I was a child, I didn’t think I could take the pain either. But then he made me take it, and he made me what I am today. You will be much improved for it.”
Tears come to her eyes. If her palms weren’t involved in balancing her current state, she would have clenched them.
He walks to her left side.
“Are you ready, Susan?”
The air is electrified with charged particles. She can almost smell the burnt iron crust of the atoms between them.
No, she wants to say, I will never be ready.
“Don’t move a muscle,” he cautions her.
The first blow takes her unawares.
Oh my God. Her buttocks are running all over with fire and tears of pain squeeze out of her eyes. It hurts. It really hurts! She didn’t think that a slender paddle like that could cause so much pain, but it does.
She gushes out a cry this time. The tears spill over to her cheeks. There will be no one to hear her in the office now – not on this floor. It occurs to her that she can stop this anytime. Concede a walkover to Leonard Drake. Please, sir, I yield my contention to Leonard. Make him VP instead, not me!
But why should she? Just because she can’t stand a little pain on her well-fed buttocks?
Get a hold of yourself, Susan. You’re made of sterner stuff than this.
She finds herself clenching her buttocks to lessen the impact of the blows. He continues to spank her thoroughly, as though she is a child that must be chastised. The sharp sounds of the paddle in contact with her rapidly reddening flesh echo in the otherwise still atmosphere.
A sob worms out of her throat.
She can hear his breathing grow harsher – not with effort, she’s sure, but desire.
The hot tears run and run down her cheeks and drip off her chin onto the glass table. She lets out a piteous cry with each strike of the paddle, each a little louder than before. Her helplessness seems to spur him on further. Now she can hear the paddle whistling through the air before the inevitable smack on her rump, which she has no doubt is very red by now.
There’s something debasing about this whole scene . . . and yet gratifying.
She hardly realizes he has stopped. Her butt is a fiery explosion of pain and heat, and her eyes are so blurred she can scarcely register what’s before her. He is a vague vision in front of her. She blinks.
He has taken off his boxers, and his cock is a rigid magnificent beast before her. Its uncircumcised head poises in front of her mouth, and she can see every curved vein upon its shaft. His entire organ glistens, full to almost bursting with whatever sap it has accumulated.
A lump forms in her throat.
“Suck me,” he says hoarsely.
Without warning, he shoves his cock towards her mouth. She opens it hungrily. In it slides. She tastes his silken skin upon her tongue, which is immediately flattened by its enormous girth.
He crams his cock down her throat as far as it would go. She gags.
“Good girl,” he says in a soothing voice, his hand on her hair. He strokes her head almost lovingly. “Now suck me . . . hard.”
She tries to, but his cock is so large than she can barely maintain her cheek muscle traction around it. She tries to flick her tongue around his shaft, but even that is difficult. She wants to tell him to take it out – to let her caress it with butterfly licks first outside her mouth – but she cannot speak. So she keeps her mouth open and her cheeks as closed in as possible while he pumps into her in a semblance of fucking.